


Warming Up to the Idea

by sexylibrarian12



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Sexual Content, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sexylibrarian12/pseuds/sexylibrarian12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's cold, it's late, the power's out. What are these two to do to keep warm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warming Up to the Idea

It was late. It was cold. It was snowing. There was a blackout. For John, this all added up to a foul mood. He'd had a rare call from Harry, begging him to come pick her up from a noisy, dirty pub. She was nearly blind drunk and needed someone to get her home safely. She didn't have all that many friends, certainly not the call-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind, and given how things were going with Clara calling her just wasn't an option.  
'At least she's with it enough to know that she'd die in the snow if she walked home.' John had thought to himself as Harry pleaded in an irritatingly sibling-like way on the other end of the line. He had agreed, bundled himself up, and hailed a cab out on the street. He was even more irritated by the fact that he had to pay for the cab to get her, bring her home, and return himself home again. He calmed himself by thinking, 'I may not like her very much, but she is my sister and I love her.'  
When he was finally dropped back home he saw that all the windows were still dark. He sighed and flicked on his mobile, using the illuminated screen to find his way around the snowdrifts. As he opened the door a clump of snow dislodged itself from the frame and landed right inside his coat collar. He winced and swore, trying to shake as much out as he could. He shut the door hard, stamping his boots in the hall and brushing himself off some more. He didn't want to wake Sherlock, if he was actually sleeping, so he left the heavy boots downstairs and quietly made his way up the steps.  
In the flat there were a few candles burning, throwing warm flickers of light against the walls. Thankfully, being on the second floor gave them just enough accumulated warmth so that it wasn’t unbearable, but it was hardly what one would call comfortable. Then he noticed the dark form on the settee. Sherlock was stretched out full-length, as he was wont to do, swathed in a blanket, eyes closed, looking pale, dead… beautiful. John couldn’t turn his eyes away. He leaned back against the doorframe, letting his emotions battle inside his mind. He was tired, cold, vulnerable, lonely, and – he was finally ready to admit to himself – in love. This only exacerbated his vulnerability. He knew that, ordinarily, it would be difficult to admit his feelings to someone, but what he and Sherlock had… it was different. It was more than partnership, more than friendship, and he knew he couldn’t bear to lose it.  
As his thoughts meandered, Sherlock stirred. John started and tried to look like he was just coming in. Sherlock rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat.  
‘Where have you been?’ he asked.  
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ John replied curtly.  
‘Are you sure?’ Sherlock asked, sitting up and indicating that John should come sit next to him. John felt a warm rush though his body. Sherlock was always at ease around him, but he never purposely made so intimate a gesture. He walked over hesitantly and sat down, still in full outerwear.  
‘Aren’t you going to take your coat and things off?’ Sherlock asked.  
‘Are you kidding? It’s freezing!’  
‘Yes, I’m quite aware of that, but we’ve got blankets. I thought maybe we could start a fire in the fireplace.’  
‘I’m glad you waited for me, I doubt it’s all in working order. I could see what Mrs. Hudson thinks, is she in?’  
‘I’ve no idea.’ replied Sherlock unhelpfully.  
John got back up and trudged downstairs. Mrs. Hudson was in her sitting room, her chair pushed close to a roaring fire, reading by candlelight and wrapped in every blanket she owned.  
‘Evening.’ John greeted her.  
‘Hello, dear!’ she replied. ‘You’ll excuse me if I don’t get up, I’m a little tangled up here.’  
‘No, no, it’s fine. We were just wondering, is the chimney up to snuff? We wanted to light a fire.’  
‘Oh, yes, I make sure to keep up on the inspection. Just go to the shed out back, there’s plenty of wood. Sounds very romantic!’  
‘Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.’ John said with a half embarrassed, half hopeful smile. There was a canvas carrier in the shed and John filled it as full as he could carry; he’d be damned if he was going to make another trip outside. When Sherlock saw him lugging it through the door he grinned and jumped up from the couch. He went to find matches and paper while John piled the wood next to the hearth. Within minutes John had a lovely blaze going and Sherlock dragged the sofa over to face the fireplace. He walked over to John and removed his coat for him. John blushed at this and tried to hide it behind taking off hat, scarf and gloves. Sherlock hung up the coat and sat down in the warm glow. John tossed his things into a chair, grabbed another blanket, and joined him.  
‘This isn’t efficient.’ Sherlock announced after a minute. John was confused, but Sherlock stood and started to pull the blanket off of him.  
‘Hey!’ John protested, but Sherlock persisted.  
‘It’s much more efficient to share the blankets. Here – ‘ He put the larger blanket around John’s shoulders, then sat down close to him, wrapping the blanket around his own shoulders as well. He then laid the other blanket across both their laps.  
‘There, see? Now we can take advantage of each other’s body heat.’ Sherlock said with satisfaction. ‘Of course, it would work better if we were both naked.’ he said with a smirk. John nearly choked. His entire face turned bright red. Sherlock was peering at him from the corner of his eye. ‘Oh, come on John, haven’t you a sense of humor?’ Sherlock asked teasingly.  
‘It’s not funny.’ John replied with the hint of an edge to his voice.  
‘Oh.’ Sherlock said, all trace of mirth draining from his face. ‘I’m sorry, I just…’  
‘No, it’s ok,’ John cut him off, ‘It’s just that… just that – ‘ He stopped in midsentence, unable to make himself get it over with. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms across them, resting his chin there.  
‘What is it?’ encouraged Sherlock.  
‘I don’t know if I should say. I don’t want to offend you or put you off in any way. I don’t – I don’t want to lose you, Sherlock.’ his voice quavered. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t say it out loud. I love you; how simple that phrase is and yet so powerful.  
But Sherlock, though personally inexperienced with this sort of thing, truly was the best detective; of course he had guessed what John wanted to say.  
‘John’ he said softly, and laid his hand gently against the side of the doctor’s face, turning John so their eyes met. John looked a bit stunned, a bit afraid, but mostly relieved. They smiled, leaned toward each other, and their lips met. They kissed softly at first, the exquisite feeling crackling through their nerves like electricity. After a moment, their passion broke through the dam of restraint; John slid his legs back down and Sherlock moved over to straddle him, the kiss intensifying. John ran his hand through Sherlock’s silken hair, then gripped it tight, forcing his head to tilt back. Sherlock cried out in surprise, then in pleasure as John ran his tongue from the base of Sherlock’s neck up to his earlobe, nibbling at it and licking the edge of his ear.  
John released his grip and Sherlock pulled John’s sweater over his head, unbuttoned his shirt, and slid backward off his lap to kneel on the floor. He was tall enough that, leaning in with John’s legs on either side of his waist, they could continue kissing. He pulled John’s shirt the rest of the way off, followed by the vest. Sherlock leaned back a little to admire John’s perfectly defined chest and arms, and John started to undress him now. He untied Sherlock’s dressing gown, which easily fell away and pooled on the floor at their feet. John pulled Sherlock’s tee shirt over his head and tossed it aside.  
Their lips met again and Sherlock trailed his fingers down John’s torso, started to unfasten the belt. John shifted forward a little to give him a better angle. Sherlock swiftly undid the belt and tugged awkwardly at John’s trousers, trying not to break contact with his mouth. John helped him finish the job and gasped when Sherlock reached into his pants, making his instantly hard. Sherlock drew him out, stroking him, making him shiver and moan. John fleetingly wondered if he was ready for this, but those thoughts were abandoned as soon as he felt the heat of Sherlock’s mouth on his cock. Sherlock ran his tongue from the base to the tip, then around the head, causing John to shudder. Sherlock smiled at this and it encouraged him to tease a bit more. John thought he might faint it felt so incredible. Sherlock started to suck him, not too hard, just enough to make John moan and his hips writhe. It wasn’t long before John had to stop him, he wanted this to last. He gently pushed Sherlock off and pulled him into another kiss.  
Sherlock stood. He didn’t have to say anything, John knew he wanted a turn and he wanted to give it to him. Sherlock’s cock strained against his pajama bottoms and John pulled them down slowly, teasingly, revealing Sherlock’s eager member. John took it in his and started to slowly stroke it. Sherlock groaned and his knees threatened to collapse. John took Sherlock in his mouth and slowly brought himself up and down. Sherlock gripped John’s hair and squeezed his eyes shut, moaning and shivering. John was enthralled by the sensation of sucking him off; it was the first time he had done so and he absolutely loved it. Why on earth hadn’t he tried this before?  
By this time they were both naked, their clothes strewn about, the blankets and pillows in a haphazard pile on the floor. John broke off and pulled Sherlock down on top of the makeshift bed. He continued fellating Sherlock until he could tell he was close to climaxing, then turned his attentions to the rest of Sherlock’s body. He left a trail of kisses up Sherlock’s torso and stopped at his mouth. They embraced passionately, kissing over and over, the fire blazing in the hearth and in their veins. Both of them were stiffer than they’d ever been and their cocks rubbed against one another, fueling their desire. Their breathing was fast and ragged, their minds intently focused on one another. The sensation finally sent them over the edge and they both came at the same time. John squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth to keep from crying out too loudly. Sherlock’s eyes flew wide open and he gasped, mouth agape. John’s body went limp, he rested his head on Sherlock’s chest and Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around the other man and they lay there panting for a few moments. When their heart rates calmed down they remembered it was cold and John pulled one of the blankets over them. He settled beside Sherlock, head on his chest, arm flung around his waist, and Sherlock wrapped his arms around John. They lay silently for a while, enjoying the intimacy, then John finally spoke.  
‘I guess I didn’t have to say anything after all.’ And they both burst out laughing.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to writing fanfic and I would love any (polite) constructive criticism anyone wants to give!


End file.
